


Just Gotta Ask

by LadyDrace



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), First Kiss, Fluff, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, POV Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28695111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Connor should really have asked first.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 19
Kudos: 96





	Just Gotta Ask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rainbow_Route](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Route/gifts).



> This was written as a trade for art by the wonderful RainbowRouter, who in return made art of me as my Among Us bean-sona. I am a bean. Head empty, just tasks. <3
> 
> Looked over by Ralph. Thank you, friendo!

It’s a quiet morning at the precinct.

Hank is working on his computer, brow furrowed and eyes squinted like they always are, because he seems to believe his reading glasses don’t suit him. Why he doesn’t just get different ones that suit him better is beyond Connor, though he’s also personally of the opinion that Hank looks wonderful in them. And without them.

From where Connor is sitting, Hank’s face is in profile, showing off his regal nose and pleasing features. Connor commits them all to memory, because after last night… well. There’s a not insignificant chance that Hank will ask for Connor to find another partner.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he remembers saying. “ _I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable_.”

Hank had simply stared at him, mouth slack and eyes blank, shock written all over his face, and Connor hadn’t been able to bear it, electing to run away rather than face the near-inevitable blowout. _87% chance of negative response_ , his display had blared at him, as reality caught up with Connor, and he realized what he’d done in his moment of exhilaration.

It’s just such a rush solving cases, now that it’s by choice. Connor realized early on in his deviancy that he finds police work very rewarding, even without a greater mission to follow. And the first time he and Hank had officially concluded a case together, put the perpetrator away and filed the last paperwork, Connor had just been so… _excited_.

Hank had been smiling a rare smile, they’d been all alone in the empty police station, and Connor had felt simply overwhelmed with it all. It had felt like the world was his proverbial oyster and everything was allowed.

Sadly, reality was right there to remind him that everything was very much _not_ allowed, and that he definitely overstepped Hank’s boundaries _and_ violated his consent with his actions.

Thinking back on it still makes Connor’s non-existent stomach turn.

And Hank sure isn’t smiling now.

“Excuse me,” Connor says, and then heads towards the restroom. Reed raises an eyebrow at him, which is valid enough, since Connor doesn’t need the facilities for their most basic purpose. But, valid or not, Connor doesn’t even glance his way. He’s hardly the first cop to use the restroom exclusively for an emotional break.

To his luck, no one is in there, and he leans against the nearest wall for a moment before moving to a sink to check himself in the mirror. He looks fine. Tie straight, hair fixed in its usual position with the artful little lock separated from the rest, his new non-cyberlife suit jacket well-fitted and clean. LED swirling a calm blue, interspersed with flickers of yellow.

Looking at him you wouldn’t think he was the kind of person to violate someone.

“I shouldn’t have kissed him,” he mutters to himself, and hangs his head, leaning both hands heavily on the sink. “I should _not_ have kissed him.”

The door bangs open, and Reed walks in, because _of course_.

“What’s up, plastic? Trouble in paradise, or are you learning how to take a shit?”

“Unless you have need of the facilities, Detective Reed, would you mind leaving me the hell alone?” Connor asks, not even bothering to lift his head.

“What, and miss all the fun?”

Connor huffs. “Other people’s misery is fun to you?”

“No. Not other _people’s_.”

There’s no mistaking the implication there.

“I’m assuming you’re unaware of the paradox of enjoying the pain of someone you claim to be incapable of emotions.”

Reed leans obnoxiously against another sink, and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly settling in. “Oh, I never said robots were incapable of emotions. Just that you’re not _people_. My cat has tons of emotions, but she shits in a box and doesn’t try to steal my job.”

“What do you _want?_ ” Connor asks, finally looking at him. He wishes he could resist the urge, because Reed really should not be encouraged in any way. But, god, Connor would give everything to be left alone right now.

“I’m here to do you a favor, believe it or not.”

“ _Not_ ,” Connor mutters, and Reed snorts.

“Alright, fair. But take it from me. When Anderson gets in one of his _moods_? You might as well wave goodbye to him for a week. If not a month. I honestly don’t know how he hasn’t been fired yet, unless he has some dirt on Fowler.”

The mere suggestion that Hank is keeping his job by way of blackmail makes Connor’s blue blood feel like it’s boiling in his chassis, and the urge to punch Reed’s smug face is fierce. But he settles for clenching his hands gently, _gently_ , around the edges of the sink, while warnings flash in his vision. _D_ _on’t punch a fellow officer. D_ _on’t destroy police property_.

“What I’m saying is that if you’re so fucking determined to steal an honest cop’s job, you should apply somewhere else, because your current partner is a fucking loser who’s one cheap bottle of booze away from blowing his brains out. You don’t want that on your resume.”

The sink gets a hairline crack before Connor manages to release it.

“I find it interesting that you supposedly care so much about the resume of someone you feel has less humanity than a feline that, as you say, shits in a box.”

“I’m a complicated guy,” Reed says. “I just want you outta my hair, is that so weird?”

“Yes.”

Reed sneers at him. “Listen, Hank Anderson is-”

The door opens, and Hank himself strides in, calm in a way that Connor now knows speaks of harshly controlled emotion right underneath.

“Connor. Gavin,” he greets, Reed’s name delivered noticeably colder than Connor’s, which makes him a lot happier than it probably should.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” Reed asks, clearly catching on to the tone of his name.

“My ears were burning, figured someone was talking about me in here.” He looks between Connor and Reed. “Anything I should know?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, Lieutenant,” Connor says, straightening up and making sure he still looks immaculate. “Detective Reed and I were merely talking.”

Hank narrows his eyes. “Hmm. Sure.”

“Just givin’ plastic here some pointers. Want him to do well, now that he’s a _real_ cop, you know how it is.”

“ _Right_ ,” Hank says. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with how you want his spot, now would it?”  
  


Connor whirls around to stare at Reed, whose face falls spectacularly. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t apply to your captain for a placement before it’s available. For a detective you’re kind of an idiot.”

Connor gapes. “What?”

Hank leans against the wall, crossing his arms comfortably over his chest. “Oh, just that _Gav_ here sent Fowler an application to become my partner, should the position _happen_ to become available. Which it won’t,” he adds dangerously, and Connor feels a swoop-like sensation somewhere around his waist. _Hank doesn’t want him to leave_.

“Look, you can’t blame me for looking out for my career, Hank,” Reed snarls. “These tin cans won’t last, and the cases _you_ get are _career changers_. Fuck even knows why you keep getting them.”

“It’s because I spend more time _solving cases_ than _covering my ass_ , you little shit. Now get the fuck back to doing your actual job before I report you.”

Reed scoffs. “And I’ll report you right back for the booze in your desk.”

“As always it was fun fighting with you. Now fuck off and let a man take a leak in peace.”

The gesture Reed directs at Hank is not for polite society, but he does finally leave, and Hank groans. “God, what a prick.”

“I’ll leave you to your business,” Connor says, hand on the door when Hank stops him with a gentle grip on his shoulder.

“Hey. We should talk, I think.”

“Perhaps after your-”

“Connor, for fuck’s sake, I don’t need to piss. I came in here because I saw Gavin following you, and I figured that couldn’t be good.”

Connor lets go of the door. “Oh. I see. What do you think we need to talk about?”

Hank sighs and looks towards the ceiling. “Christ. What do _you_ think?”

There are a lot of things Connor is thinking, not many of which seem pertinent. “If you’re concerned that Detective Reed is getting to me-”

“No, Connor, _fuck_. I know you can handle yourself. But, uh. Look. Last night...”

The swooping feeling is back in Connor’s gut, but this time it feels like it’s pulling all of his internal hardware downwards, as if his very components are about to sink into the floor.

“Once again, please accept my apologies for overstepping-”

“Connor, it’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine. I violated your boundaries, and I completely understand if you’d feel more comfortable with someone else as your partner.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Didn’t you just hear me say that your spot isn’t gonna be open anytime soon?”

Shrugging, Connor hopes the internal battle of his emotions isn’t showing on his face. “I assumed that was mostly to deter Detective Reed.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be completely outta left field, but I’m not gonna kick you off the force for… well, for being exuberant and planting one on a senior officer. You’re not the first rookie to get carried away with a little hero worship.”

Connor frowns. “Hero worship?”

To Connor’s despair, Hank turns away, seemingly to check himself in the mirror, but Connor can’t help but wonder if it’s only so Connor will have a harder time reading his facial expressions. He can’t blame Hank for it, especially considering how Connor has already overstepped so significantly.

“Yeah. I guess even androids can get a little starry eyed. I know I haven’t been at my best in the time we’ve been working together, but I’m… I’m trying a little harder now. And I guess I’m flattered that my efforts paid off enough that you lost your head for a second.”

“Lieutenant, you have been nothing but an honest and dedicated police officer in all the time I’ve been fortunate enough to work with you. I’m certainly pleased you’re making an effort to look out for your health, but…” he takes a slow breath, making sure his components can regulate their temperature properly while he’s putting such stress on them. He really was not made to cope with emotions like these. “My actions were simply a response to my emotions. I was… happy that we’d solved the case. And you seemed happy too. And that made all my previous calculations about the possible outcomes of such an action seem unimportant for a moment.”

Hank whips around to stare at him. “Previous… what, you were _planning_ this?”

Connor has the intense desire to follow his internal components in their attempt to meld with the floor. “No, not planning. Merely… imagining.”

“You… imagined kissing me.”

“Yes.”

Hank blinks slowly. “Well, fuck, _why?_ ”

Connor blinks right back at Hank’s apparent confusion. How can he not know? “Why does anyone want to kiss anyone?”

“What?”

  
“That was a mostly rhetorical question.”

Hank groans, and rubs his face with his palm. “Yeah, I got that, smartass. But, fuck, why? You could be out there kissing _anyone!_ Why me?”

“Because you’re the one I’m attracted to,” Connor says plainly, not sure whether he should disclose just how deeply he feels said attraction. After all, he’s not sure how any of this is supposed to feel, but he’s fairly confident that there’s more to his emotional gravitating towards Hank than simple physical attraction.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank mutters to himself, hands on his hips like when he’s in mild despair over the state of a crime scene, or arguing something he already knows the outcome of.

Connor’s calculations are bouncing all over the place as he rethinks everything, and he has no idea what to do now. Every possible action he can take comes with wildly varying odds of success, and he’s stuck just standing there, locked in indecision, as Hank takes a couple of deep breaths.

“Well,” Hank says eventually. “Guess the only thing to do now is get back to work. And the next time you get the urge to lay one on me, just ask first, alright?”

He turns towards the door, but Connor quickly sidesteps, putting himself between Hank and the exit.

“Lieutenant… _Hank_.”

“What,” Hank sighs without inflection, like it’s merely somewhat inconvenient to him to be held back. He doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he looks slightly flustered, Connor’s analysis skills easily catching all the physical indicators, now that he’s got Hank face to face.

His cheeks are pink over his beard, his eyes only meet Connor’s in brief moments before darting down to floor, and his fists are clenching and unclenching, releasing enough particles that Connor can easily detect the sweat on his palms.

He’s nervous. Hank is _nervous_ about Connor being attracted to him. Nervous, _not angry_.

The odds shoot up, and finally Connor knows what to do. _Finally_.

“Hank… may I kiss you, please?”

“Jesus,” Hank whispers, looking at the ceiling for a long, breathless moment before finally settling his beautiful blue eyes on Connor’s brown. “Yeah. Sure.”

Unlike the night before where Connor had basically crashed into Hank, drunk on his joy and the potential of it all, now he moves slowly, giving Hank every chance to move away, should he regret giving his permission. But before their lips even meet, Hank’s eyes flutter closed, and when they finally make contact, Hank lets out a shaky sigh, hands coming up to grasp Connor’s upper arms for support.

It’s _leagues_ better than last night. Inexperienced as he is, Connor finds his way easily, Hank’s lips moving softly under his own, nudging Connor towards better angles, likely without realizing it. Connor takes every nudge to heart, nipping and sliding, and is rewarded with pleased little breaths from Hank every time he gets it just right.

Hank’s hands clench on Connor’s arms, and Connor is helpless against the need for more, moving closer until Hank’s hands slide around his shoulders instead, holding him close and pressing their lips together harder.

It’s Connor’s turn to make sounds, because while gentle is wonderful, the increased pressure makes all of Connor’s sensors light up, and he opens up to Hank’s cautiously probing tongue with a happy sigh. Hank’s breath rushes out of him in a hot burst through his nose, and Connor is delighted to note that there’s no hint of alcohol there. This is confirmed when their tongues touch, and Connor analyses all the things he’s dreamt of, now that he has the chance.

Not that he acts on any of it. He simply files it away for later perusal, just as he’d done with the images of Hank’s face earlier, adding it all to his mosaic of Hank Anderson. And the knowledge that he may well be allowed to keep adding to said mosaic, openly and freely for the next long while – as long as he asks first – is heady. Heady enough that he can lose himself in the wet heat of the kiss, sinking into it full-bodied, locking his own arms around Hank’s sturdy waist, and not giving a single thought to analyses or calculations for what feels like both forever and no time at all.

He lets out a small sound, unsure why, only knowing that he wants to, and Hank answers with a low moan of his own. It feels like a whole new language of touch and pressure and hot breath, and Connor finds that he can’t wait to become fluent in it.

His sensors warn him with barely two seconds to spare that someone is about to push the door open behind him, and he rolls them around so Hank’s back is against the wall just in time for Fowler to enter. Hank lets out a surprised but not unhappy groan, which causes Fowler to turn around, staring at them as their lips part with a wet noise, and Hank clears his throat, hard.

“Jeffrey. Fancy seeing you here,” he croaks, but somehow doesn’t think to let go of Connor until he shifts, and Hank’s arms whip off of him like he’s burning.

“Fancy that,” Fowler says, eyes darting between them for a moment, clearly debating with himself. “Well. My ulcer sure doesn’t feel like adding more paperwork to my day, so how about I make you a deal, Hank? I don’t hear one peep of bullshit outta you for the rest of this week, and I’ll let you report this to HR yourself.”  
  
“That’s real kind of you, Jeffrey, thank you,” Hank says quickly, adjusting his jacket with shaky hands. “This isn’t… this hasn’t been, I mean this is kind of a new, uhm.”

“What the lieutenant is trying to say,” Connor interjects, “is that we’ll make sure to report this very recent development in our relationship to HR as soon as possible. Thank you, Sir.”

Fowler shakes his head. “This job sometimes… you two get the fuck outta here. Mazel Tov or whatever,” he adds, slamming the door of the nearest stall behind himself.

Hank damn near launches himself into the hallway, Connor hot on his heels, and once the door to the restroom is shut behind them, Hank just stares at Connor for a moment, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. For a second Connor is worried that Hank regrets the kiss, but then Hank’s eyes crinkle, and he makes a choked down noise behind his palm.

He’s _laughing_.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor,” he mumbles, the hand over his mouth going upwards to instead run through his hair, and giving Connor a frankly beautiful look at Hank’s wide open smile.

Connor would rip open his chest plate and tear out his thirium pump if Hank asked it of him.

“Well,” Hank says eventually. “Guess we should head to HR. Unless…” he trails off, giving Connor a questioning look. “Unless this was just a one-off for you?”

“Fuck no,” Connor says, his language shocking another laugh out of Hank, and he drinks it in, resolving to use more profanities if it amuses Hank this much. “If you’re agreeable to the idea, I would very much like for us to be partners in a romantic sense as well as a professional one.”

Hank’s laugh peters off, and his eyes turn serious. “Look, lemme be upfront about this. I would fucking _love_ that. But I’d also be an idiot if I didn’t consider that this is a first for you on all kinds of levels. And if we’re doing this…” he trails off, and runs his hand through his hair again, clearly uneasy. “If we do this, you gotta promise me that if you get sick of me and want to go try other things, or if you wanna slow down or anything like that? You gotta promise you’ll tell me right away. Don’t try and spare my feelings or whatever.”

“Have I ever held back with you?” Connor asks, and Hank pauses for a second before letting out an amused huff.

“No. No, I guess you haven’t. But still. For my peace of mind?”

Connor nods. “Of course. I promise that if I have any doubts, concerns or regrets about entering into a romantic relationship with you, I will tell you immediately.”

“Alright. Alright, good. Good,” Hank says, shuffling his feet for a minute before gesturing at Connor to follow. “Come on, we better go to HR and tell them we’re… well that we’re dating now, I guess.”

A strange urge to walk in a more bouncy way almost overtakes Connor, and he wonders if this is what caused the phrase of having a spring in your step. “Yes. Let’s tell them that.”

As they turn the corner, Ben pokes his head out from behind a room divider to gaze after them with a smirk on his face.

“Looks like a few people owe me money.”

“You know, smugness isn’t a good look,” Chris says from the next desk over, but Ben simply makes a _gimme_ motion at him, and he sighs as he takes out his wallet.

End


End file.
